The Quale of Restless Thought
by Atoms and Elements
Summary: There were too many thoughts and he was barely four years old. Drabble on Itachi's earliest years.


_**A/N:**_** Okay. I wrote a small drabble-type-thing for my friend on Tumblr. I hope it's not stupid. Maybeh. Onwards…**

/...\

_Drabble_

**Third Person POV:**

It was hardly the afternoon, but somehow the sun still baked down on him heavily—the glare piercing through the thin gaps between the leaves overhead. It was a buggy, humid type of day on top of that, which added to the beads of sweat that collected at his brow and dribbled down the side of his face.

He was barely four, but Itachi was already sure that days like this would be the death of him yet. Had his mother been around, perchance she would've scolded him for such thinking, dubbing it a wasteful thought that would only serve to turn him prematurely into a cantankerous old man. Although, perhaps she was already too late to be giving him such speeches.

The year had been taken up in war—the storms far less foreboding than the arrival of enemy nin. But somehow it was contained in sections, and he still lived in a world where most did not see the greater extent of death and dismemberment. They'd kept their eyes shut even passing by graveyards and corpses that sometimes came back with friends.

But nevertheless, even in the midst of war, Itachi's life still spiralled on as usual. There were days of calmer airs and birds that flitted between the heavy trees. Outside of observing the dead return as ghosts with their comrades—when his tired eyes saw more than they should—, he studied with the other hollow children among hollow adults.

So taking breaks became customary for him, for it was difficult to breathe among those who held heavier hearts than he did. The forest was oh-so quiet that even wisps of the breeze sounded loud in his young ears, and the low murmur of the village was too far away to be noticed. Somehow, the collected light among the foliage was ethereal, and it relaxed him far better than any high-strung instructor or colourless classmate.

But it somehow also added that heaviness to his heart, where it pooled at the very bottom of his stomach, sizzling among the acids. These were supposed to be the halcyon days of his youth—the days of softer clouds and spinning views, but somehow the world just seemed fugacious to him. Fleeting, without meaning and everything stood still in its rapidly fading path. The glamour that was sprinkled over its less-than-dreary ends merely covered up the fact that…

He shook his head. Those kinds of thoughts were tiresome at best, so he would have to do well not to think them. Besides, his school days would be ending soon and joining the Academy was in his near future—ascending so quickly into adulthood would only rip him apart at the seams, would it not?

**[He breathes out]**

It was hard to control his ever-changing thoughts; hard to get a grip on them and stabilize himself. The concept of such a thing was not so ominous (so rarely did children take the time to think and mature), but…a small, insignificant part of him continued to murmur about how his ghost might one day follow his comrades into the forests.

But… _(these are thoughts for later days) _

The quale of restless thought was something difficult to step over, even if he desperately tried day after day. He was barely four years old, and already the world was coloured by shades of grey and slight shimmers here and there. Moments of serendipity were few and far between.

There was always that lingering fear that rested at the back of his tongue; and the restless thoughts continued to quietly whisper in his ears about death and how easily it could be claimed. The countless men and women who deserted their fleets in favour of life, and the countless who stayed for they knew not the meaning of _'defeat'_. He wondered which he would be.

However, he was barely four and these were the summery days of hazy afternoons. So maybe the scent of petrichor would take the place of the lingering fear at the back of his tongue, if he so would allow it. Strolling through the forest would only bring so many sights and sounds and tastes and smells.

The Uchiha heir glanced up at the treetops with narrowed eyes, hiding the sheer glare of the sunlight behind his cupped hand. The closest star continued to beat down in waves that had him parched and aching for shade.

It really was too hot to think of such things.

\.../

_**A/N:**_** Was it stupid? It was probably stupid. HOWEVER, I'm somewhat proud of it and the language I used, so all is well.**

**-Atom-**


End file.
